


Borrowed Time

by TheUnfortunateCat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (I hope), Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gen, Humor, OLD AND BEING REVISED, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnfortunateCat/pseuds/TheUnfortunateCat
Summary: Way back when, Captain America had a team.The team was called the Howling Commandos, and it had seven members; James “Bucky” Barnes, Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan, Jim Morita, James Montgomery Falsworth, Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier, and Emerson Smith.That last name may seem unfamiliar. No surprise there. After all, it was quite frowned upon for a woman to be a soldier.But fast forward to 2014, and her name might come up in the newsfeed, along with the word “HYDRA”.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers (implied), Steve Rogers & Original Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (old AN:) Alright, well, if you’re reading this, thank you for giving my little project a chance. :)  
> As of right now, this story is still being written, and I don’t really have a schedule for posting just yet. I hope you like this first chapter, and if you don’t, please tell me what I should fix.
> 
> This story, as it’s written right now, is not built for chapters. So if the starts and ends seem a bit jerky right now, that’s why. I’ll probably start writing this more for chapters as I keep going, but for now... sorry :/
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged :)
> 
> okay new AN time: at this point i've barely added anything new to this in a WHILE, and i apologize for that, my inspiration for writing has been very slow-coming and i am still, definitely, not a pro writer or even a very good one, unlike my friend 16woodsequ over here (shameless plug go check them out they make great shit) so to the people who found this, old or new, and cares about the story im trying to build enough to read it, i promise i will eventually come back to this. it just might take a bit  
> take care all  
> \- some cat on the internet

_ Tick. _

_ Tock. _

_ Tick. _

_ Tock. _

Emerson stared down at the picture, the shadowed apartment pressing down on her. No sound aside from the ticking clock. No movement aside from its pointing hands. 

The discarded grocery bags still sat on the counter where she had dropped them, waiting to be deposited into the fridge. 

She wasn’t moving, but her mind was racing.  _ Fraud. Imposter. Trick.  _

_Because it_ can’t _be him._

_ There’s no way it can be him. _

When she had first heard of the “Avengers”, she was both a little disappointed that she didn’t live in New York anymore, and curious about just who was on this “superhero” team. Tony Stark, obviously, Black Widow, whoever that was, Bruce Banner, wasn’t that guy on the run?

But it was the leader of the group that made her mind stop short.

Captain America.

Steve Rogers.

_ Tick. _

_ Tock. _

Emerson’s hands tightened around the faded picture as she remembered when they had just left the HYDRA base, hauling machinery back to Howard for him to study, to find the Captain missing and Peggy in tears. She raised a hand to her chest, remembering how her heart had felt like it had been torn out, so soon after being sewn back in again. 

Bucky’s death had gutted both her, and the Captain. She remembered him going off alone to drink, even when it didn’t actually have the effect he’d wanted. When she’d been told that he had driven a plane full of bombs into the icy ocean, she hadn’t exactly been surprised… but it hurt like hell nonetheless.

She stared down at the image, a still shot of the Cap and the team, frozen in time.

_ Tick. _

_ Tock. _

_ Tick. _

A firm knock rang out through the stilled apartment.

Emerson startled, her head snapping up to fix her uncovered eye on the door. Unlatching her handgun from her belt and flicking off the safety in one smooth motion, she crept forward and cracked the door open.

A dark-skinned man wearing all black and an eyepatch stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Hi. Mind if I come inside?”

“Yeah, actually,” Emerson responded evenly, keeping the gun hidden behind the door.

“Great,” the man said, pushing the door open all the way and stepping inside. Emerson whipped the handgun up level with the man’s forehead, taking a few paces back.

“Who are you?” Emerson demanded, not lowering her arm.

The man simply stood there, giving her a stoic look with his single eye. “Nick Fury, director of SHIELD. So nice to finally meet you in person, Emerson Smith.”

Emerson stiffened at her full name, and her own eye narrowed. “SHIELD, huh? Figures you’d be tracking me.”

“We’ve been trying to find you ever since we found evidence of your continued existence in ‘85,” Director Fury said. “It’s frankly impressive that you managed to stay hidden for so long.”

“Well, I got a bit of help. Why are you here?” she cut to the point.

“Just curious,” Fury began, closing the apartment door. “...about how you’re still alive. It startin’ to feel like no one from World War Two stays dead anymore…” he added the last part under his breath, but Emerson still heard it. 

Her eye widened. “What?” She started to lower the gun unconsciously. 

Fury’s eyebrows raised. “Didn’t ya hear about Captain Rogers?”

Emerson stared at the man, her arm falling to her side. “H...he’s really alive? But…” 

The director took a few slow steps forward, making her tense again. “It might help to hear the full story from the Cap himself.” He held out his hand. “What do you say? Pay Rogers a visit, answer some of our questions?”

Emerson’s one-eyed gaze dropped to the floor, her mind racing. Looking back up, she managed to give a small, single nod, reholstering the gun on her belt and shaking the agent’s hand.

“You got a firm grip, Smith.” Fury noted, with the faintest ghost of a smile.

“I was in the army. Kinda have to.” She snagged her dark purple jacket from its place on the couch and shrugged it on, making sure her tools and the little money she had were in its pockets.

“My ride’s just behind the building,” Fury told her, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

Emerson raised her eyebrows slyly. “Really?” She smiled, walking toward the wall. “Well, that’s just perfect.”

Sliding the window open, she jumped out of the apartment and slid down the slanted roof, landing lightly on a large trash bag in the alleyway behind the building. She smirked when she saw the all-black, unmarked car.  _ Not suspicious at all, _ she thought sarcastically. She leaned against it with her arms folded, waiting.

When Fury turned the corner, she grinned at him, and he scowled back. “You’re just as bad as Romanoff,” he muttered as he unlocked the car, and she raised an eyebrow, not knowing who that was, and opened the passenger door. “Nuh-uh, back,” Fury said, and she huffed but got into the backseat.

“So,  _ director,  _ where’re we goin’ first, an interrogation room?” Emerson snarked, leaning back casually as Fury started the car and pulled out of the alley.

“No, actually, we’re going to a rendezvous point here in DC, first,” the director said, and Emerson glanced at him, her eye narrowing. “Had a bit of trouble in SHIELD,” Fury said vaguely. 

“What kind of trouble?” Emerson inquired.

“I’ll explain when we get there,” Fury replied, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. Emerson gave him a look, but Fury wasn’t done. “If my suspicions end up correct, we’ll be glad to have you fightin’ with us.”

Emerson cast a curious — and ever so slightly concerned — glance at Fury, shoving her hands into her pockets. When he said nothing else, she turned her gaze outside the window. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw a few police cars pull up next to theirs.

Fury noticed as well. “Wanna see my lease?” he asked sarcastically, and the cops pulled away after a second. Emerson watched after them, a feeling in her gut that set her on edge.

She was caught off-guard by the sudden, bone-cracking impact that slammed into her back and snapped her spine instantly.

(TBC)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerson meets someone she never expected to see again.

“ _ Deploying countermeasures. _ ”

“Hold that order!”

“Gah!” Emerson awoke suddenly, pushing herself up. Her gaze darted around, finding the car half-crushed, bullet marks peppering the windows. 

Fury was still in the front seat, blood smeared on his face, staring back at her through the cracked rear-view mirror. “We’ll talk about this later,” he growled, then yelled “Now!” A minigun popped out of the center console and he immediately grabbed it, shooting it through the too-thin windows and killing the cops —  _ no, not cops, they can’t be cops _ — surrounding the battered car.

“I’m sorry,  _ what the hell happened? _ ” Emerson hissed as she righted herself.

Fury shot her a look, then shouted “Full acceleration, now!” Emerson gripped the back of the seat with her jaw clenched. “Initiate vertical takeoff!” the director commanded, and it briefly registered in Emerson’s mind that he was talking to his car. 

“ _ Flight systems damaged. _ ” Oh great, and it can respond, too.

Emerson let go of her death grip on the seat to pull out her handgun and shoot at their pursuers out the window, fed up with just sitting uselessly. Fury continued to yell at his car as Emerson put a bullet between the eyes of a driver, then lined up a shot at the idiot sticking his head out the window to shoot back.

“Well, what’s not damaged?!” she heard Fury snap at the car.

“ _ Air conditioning is fully operational. _ ”

Emerson snorted, despite the situation, and pulled her arm back inside the vehicle. Realizing she was out of bullets, she leaned out of the broken window and threw her empty handgun at full force at an armed cyclist pulling up next to the car, knocking him off his bike with a yelp.

“Where’re we gonna go now?” she shouted over the noise, pulling back inside.

“Get us off the grid!” Fury yelled to the car, before Emerson’s gaze focused outside the windshield, her eye widening.

A lone, dark figure, blurred by the distance and smoke, stood directly in their path. The sight made the hair on her neck stand on end, and she stared for a moment more, just before the car was launched into the air with a loud explosion. The overturned vehicle slammed onto the concrete, the impact jarring its inhabitants’ insides.

Emerson let out a groan, rubbing her neck gingerly. “Fury?” she managed to say, barely able to hear herself over the ringing in her ears. She blinked her eyes open to see him using a laser-tool to burn a hole in the top of the car. Glancing outside the destroyed remains of the vehicle, she spotted the dark silhouette of the mysterious figure walking towards them. She turned back to see a gaping hole in the ground. Fury dropped inside, and she quickly followed suit.

“Is this place secure?” Emerson hissed as the pair slipped onto the roof of an apartment building.

“The best we’re gonna get,” Fury muttered as he shoved open a window, looking back at her and holding a finger to his lips. She took the hint, stepping silently as they entered the apartment.

She peered around at the spare furnishings and undecorated shelves, not seeing much of anything that would suggest that this place was lived-in. Slinking curiously towards the bookshelf, she read the covers of the books and found mostly war stories.  _ Maybe a veteran’s home? _ she speculated. 

Suddenly hearing the barest of grunts, she snapped back around, finally noticing the extent of Fury’s injuries. Stepping closer, she pointed at his arm, and then signed  _ Needs first aid. _

Fury simply shook his head, and she gave him an unimpressed look. Snatching some paper towels from a counter in the kitchen, she kneeled down next to him and wiped the blood from his face. He shot her a glare, but let her clean the rest of his injuries in silence.

Once she was finished, she plopped down on the couch and signed  _ What now? _

Fury’s one-eyed gaze was grim.  _ We wait. _

Emerson blinked, then shrugged, laying back on the couch. Tucking her hands behind her head, she finally realized just how exhausted she was, stifling a yawn and closing her single eye.

When she came to, the apartment was dark. She glanced over at Fury and found him wide awake, fidgeting with a phone-like device. She reached over and tapped the arm of his chair to get his attention.  _ How long? _ she signed.

He wordlessly showed her the screen of the device, showing her the time. 10:37.

_ Why the silence? _ she signed, curious.

He typed something out on his phone, then turned it to her. It read  _ Ears everywhere. _

She frowned. Secure location indeed.  _ Why are we here? _ she questioned, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him.

He simply raised one finger.  _ Wait. _

She let out an inaudible huff and sat up from the couch. Sweeping her gaze around, her eyes landed on a fruit bar lying on a table. She moved to grab it, then realized how noisy the wrappers could be. Making a face, she scrutinized the bar, then slipped a small combat knife out of its hiding place in her jacket and cut a smooth line down the side of the wrapping. Placing the knife back in its sheath, she dumped the bar out of its cover and into her hand. 

Biting into the fruity snack, she suddenly caught Fury’s eye watching her with a combination of bemusement and exasperation. She simply took another bite, holding his gaze challengingly. 

Fury’s lips thinned, before he looked away and turned on a stereo, the room filling with the soft sound of old-style music. Emerson raised an eyebrow at Fury, but he just raised his finger again. She rolled her eye, taking another bite.

Suddenly, she recognized the quiet sounds of voices outside the apartment. She tensed, holding the half-eaten fruit bar in one hand and the other going to the hilt of one of her knives. Fury looked towards the hall to another room, and she narrowed her eye and gripped the knife, backing into the shadows. Fury cast her a glance, before turning his gaze back to the entryway. 

Underneath the music, she heard the barest scraping of a window being opened, before something in Fury’s expression changed.

Then, a voice. “I don't remember giving you a key.”

Emerson’s eye widened. 

Fury gave her a quick, knowing look before responding, “You really think I'd need one?” A pause. “My... wife kicked me out.”

The voice responded again, more guarded this time. “Didn't know you were married.”

“There’s a lotta things you don't know about me.” Fury replied smoothly. 

“I know, Nick. That's the problem.” The speaker stepped forward, turning on a light. 

Emerson abruptly sucked in a sharp breath, the bar falling from her fingers. 

Steve Rogers’ widened blue eyes locked onto her single brown one. 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues :3
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier makes a reappearance.

Emerson couldn’t move. Steve looked like he wanted to. They stared at each other for a moment before Fury broke in. “Sorry, but... I had nowhere else to crash.” 

Steve’s gaze snapped towards the director, scanning his injuries and eventually landing on the device in Fury’s hands, which read “SHIELD compromised”. 

Emerson’s eyebrows shot up, suddenly realizing the situation.

“Who else knows about this?” Steve’s voice sounded strained, his eyes flicking between Emerson and Fury.

“Just…” Fury stood up, typing something else out on the device, then turning it towards Steve “...my friends.” It read “you and me”.

“Is that what we are?” Steve asked carefully.

“That’s up to you,” Fury said with a nod. 

Suddenly, three thunderous gunshots shattered the relative quiet. Emerson let out a startled yelp as one of the bullets embedded into her leg, but lurched forward when the other two hit the director. 

“Fury!” She caught him as he collapsed, cursing and dragging him into the next room. She barely registered Steve following behind until he was kneeling over Fury’s limp form. 

The dark-skinned man let out a cough, then pressed something metallic into Steve's hand. “Don’t… trust anyone,” he choked out, before whispering something that Emerson couldn’t quite hear, but made Steve’s eyes widen. Fury’s eyes slid closed, right as the door to the apartment burst open, and a pretty blonde-haired woman stepped in, gun drawn. 

Emerson’s hand went for her knife again before the stranger said, “Captain Rogers?” Steve’s head snapped up. “Captain, I’m Agent 13 of SHIELD Special Service.” 

“Kate?” Steve asked, confusion coloring his tone.

“I’m assigned to protect you,” the woman told him, then turned her eyes to Emerson, her suspicion clear in her expression.

“On whose order?” Steve demanded, just as the agent rounded the corner. Her eyes widened a fraction at the sight of Fury’s limp body.

“His.” She pulled out a radio, holding it to her mouth. “Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs.”

“ _ Do you have a twenty on the shooter? _ ” crackled back through.

Emerson straightened and stepped toward the window, scanning the rooftops before noticing a shadow slinking away on a nearby building.

Steve was suddenly next to her, his determined gaze pinned on the shooter, before saying to the agent, “Tell him I’m in pursuit.” 

Steve smashed through the window with his shield —  _ THE SHIELD!  _ Emerson’s brain screamed hysterically — and jumped through, running after the assassin, right as Emerson ducked out, pulling her grappling hook out of her jacket and shooting it at the top of the building. Pulling herself up to the roof, she took off at full pelt after the shadow, adrenaline surging through her body. She could hear the smashing of walls and windows inside the office building —  _ how dramatic  _ — before Steve dropped onto the roof right as she skidded to a stop with her knife drawn, throwing his shield at the black-clad assassin with all his might.

The shadow whipped around, catching the vibranium shield in one silver hand. Emerson let out a sharp gasp as she recognized the man from the car chase, and secondly at the incredible feat of catching a super-powered indestructible disc. The assassin’s metal arm, adorned with a red star, shimmered in the faint city light as he glared at Steve through long dark hair, then swiftly threw the star-spangled shield back at the blonde super-soldier. 

Steve caught it with both hands, sliding back, before the shadow jumped down the building. Emerson quickly rushed forward, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

Emerson gritted her teeth, frustrated, then let out a controlled breath, her tense shoulders drooping. 

“Emery?”

She spun around, suddenly remembering the  _ other _ shock of the night. Her eyes stung when Steve called her by her nickname, all the things she wanted to say spiraling in her head.

She eventually settled on one.

She took a few quick strides toward him, and slapped him in the face. “Idiot.”

He stood still for a moment, blinking at her as he reached a hand up to rub his face. 

“What the  _ hell  _ made ya think it was a good idea to run a huge plane  _ with you inside offit _ into th’ ocean?” she snapped, her increasingly accented voice miraculously steady as tears built up in her one eye. “Do ya even  _ realize _ how much you  _ dying _ hurt us? Hurt  _ Peggy _ ?” 

He sighed. “Yeah, Peg told me how you all reacted after I went down,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

She folded her arms, giving him a scalding look. “So you visited  _ her _ , but not  _ me _ .”

He threw his hands up. “I didn’t even know you were still alive!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Speaking of which…” 

Then it was Emerson’s turn to sigh. “Right… that’s somethin’ I’m gonna have to explain, huh.”

“Yeah, a little,” he said, retrieving his shield. His eyes suddenly fixed onto her leg. “You’re injured.”

_ Oh. _ She peered down at the bloodied wound, then reached down and dug the offending bullet out of her flesh. Inspecting it in her fingers, she glanced up at Steve, who was making a face of pure shock and disgust. “What?” she asked innocently.

“...why the hell…?” He shook his head. “Jesus... oh, no,  _ Fury! _ ”

He took off for the apartment, and after a few faintly surprised moments, Emerson trailed behind.

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if the pacing feels off. I don’t have a beta, yet (technically I’m my own beta) so, as always, constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerson and Steve join back up, finally

Despite her protests, the people at the hospital that Steve and the agents had brought Fury to insisted on bandaging up her bullet wound.

Pulling her ripped pant-leg down over the gauze, she watched a red-haired woman run up next to Steve at the window of Fury’s room. Silently watching the doctors operate on the director, she couldn’t help but feel a pang.  _ Don’t go and die on these people, Fury, _ she thought somberly. 

“Tell me about the shooter,” she red-head muttered to Steve.

Steve didn’t look away from the window. “He’s fast… strong. Had a metal arm.”

“He tried to blow up Fury and I on our way to your apartment,” Emerson added as she walked over to them, and Steve glanced at her in surprise while the woman turned her head and gave her a once-over. 

“And you are?” she prompted, in a tone that suggested she didn’t like not knowing someone.

“Call me Cross,” she responded tersely, not sure what to make of the red-head.

Just then, a brown-haired woman walked up to their little group. Emerson shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t think she’d been in a room with this many people — or in a  _ hospital  _ — in decades.

“Ballistics?” the red-head prompted.

“Three slugs, no rifling,” the brunette replied, with a quick glance at Emerson. “Completely untraceable.”

“Soviet-made.”

“Yeah.”

Emerson watched as the doctors became more frantic, and although she was unsure how to interpret the readings from the various machines, she recognized that Fury’s state was deteriorating. One of the doctors called for a defibrillator. 

Emerson chanced a glance at Steve, and saw that his expression was sad and strained. 

“Don’t do this to me, Nick,” the red-haired woman said quietly. 

“Three, two, one. Clear!” the doctor chanted. Emerson turned away, not wanting to watch the man die. The red-head was still begging under her breath, while Steve bowed his head. 

“Pulse?”

“Negative.”

Emerson sighed. She may have only just met the man, and he may have been a little sarcastic, but he had been kind to her, and had brought her back to the Captain. 

Turning back towards the group, she noticed that the two women had gone and Steve was staring down at a silver flash drive with a SHIELD logo in his hand. 

“What do you think it’s for?” she asked quietly, standing at his shoulder. 

He glanced at her, then exhaled and put it back in his pocket. “I don’t know.”

Emerson pursed her lips, her eye on his retreating back, then slipped her hands into her pockets and followed him out.

She stood at the doorway, Steve just in front of her, the redhead hovering over Fury’s motionless body. Emerson’s hood was pulled low over her head, and she was tucked in the shadowed corner, employing her old stealth tactics to avoid drawing attention. She surveyed the groups moving in and out of the halls, several black-clad SHIELD agents intermixing with the various doctors and surgeons. 

The brunette from before caught her attention as she walked with purpose over to their door. Emerson tensed marginally, her fingers tightening around her hidden blade, but the woman only approached Steve.

“I need to take him,” she said softly, her voice thick.

Emerson watched from her corner as Steve stepped up behind the redhead. “Natasha...”

Oh, that was her name.

Natasha tenderly laid her hand on Fury’s head, before spinning on her heel and striding out. 

Steve followed after her. “ _ Natasha. _ ”

The red-haired agent’s piercing gaze fixed on Emerson, who clenched her jaw warily as Natasha stepped closer. “Why were you with Fury?”

Emerson met her gaze evenly, all the while keeping a white-knuckled grip on the knife’s hilt. “‘Cause he asked me to come.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her, her body language full of “ _ I'm not sure if I believe you _ ” and “ _ I  _ really _ want to kill someone right now _ ”, before a nameless agent came up behind Steve and broke the tense moment.

“Cap, they want you back at SHIELD.” Emerson suddenly remembered Fury’s warning. SHIELD compromised.  _ “Don’t trust anyone,”  _ he had said. She idly wondered if that included Natasha.

“Yeah, give me a second,” Steve told the agent distractedly, his gaze flicking between Emerson and Natasha.

“They want you now,” the agent pressed.

Steve did turn to look at him this time, his voice taut. “ _ Okay. _ ”

Emerson slid out of the corner, casually adjusting her hood and sidestepping the redhead without so much as a backwards glance. 

However, Natasha’s voice stopped her short. “Cross,” she said, her voice deadly soft. “If you have anything to do with this murder, I will personally make sure you never see daylight again, one way or another.”

Emerson stood her ground, turning her head slightly behind her, and giving a single nod. “...Understood.”

Her whole body was tight with tension, but she kept her stance loose as she followed Steve out of the building, a feeling of premonition building in her gut.

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Emerson are forced to run

Emerson waited anxiously outside the office of whoever Steve had gone in to talk to (Percy, or something) subconsciously twirling one of her knives in her fingers. She hated being so close to what could be an enemy, but the Captain needed  _ someone _ for trustworthy backup. 

Emerson felt out-of-place in the huge, silvery sleek building. Sighing quietly, she padded over to the windows, her gaze sweeping over the city. 

_ It’s all so different, _ she realized. She’d never had a chance to look at it this way before — high above the mirror-like buildings, stretching as far as the eye could see. But it wasn’t just Washington DC; from what little she’d seen of it in this age, New York was just as different. 

She wondered if Howard had ever built that tower he’d dreamt of. 

Lost in thought, she nearly jumped when the door swung open. Quickly regaining her wits, she matched Steve’s stride as he walked out. “So how’d it go?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Not as well as it could’ve,” was the oh-so-reassuring reply.

The two of them stepped into the elevator, Emerson pulling her hood farther over her face, wary of the ever-present security cameras. “Operations control,” Steve ordered the elevator.

“ _ Confirmed. _ ”

Emerson twitched uncomfortably as a group of agents stopped the elevator, slipping inside. “Oh boy,” she whispered, turning around and facing out the glass.

“Forensics,” one of the agents, seemingly the leader, told the elevator, the machine responding with the customary “confirmed”.

“Cap,” the agent greeted Steve with a nod.

“Rumlow,” the Captain returned neutrally. Emerson subconsciously filed away the agent’s name.

As the elevator began to ride down, Emerson’s hands clenched anxiously, the number of armed strangers in such a confined space making her twitchy. 

The agent — Rumlow — was talking again, but she couldn’t make herself focus on the words. Steve responded to something he said, the familiar tones of his voice granting her some clarity. She forced her breaths to slow, even as her hands tightened into fists.

She grit her teeth as more agents filed into the elevator, one of them jostling past her without so much as an “excuse me”. She cast a glance around her, her eye narrowing when she spotted one of the agents fingering his sidearm. Her gaze flicked to the Captain, and by the expression on his face, he’d noticed the same thing. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to Fury,” Rumlow suddenly said. “Messed up, what happened to him.”

“Thank you,” Steve responded. Emerson cast her eye around the elevator, the tension building in the air almost palpable. She slowly reached for one of her knives. 

Even more agents stepped inside, sealing the deal. Emerson caught Steve’s eye, giving him a tiny nod.

The Captain nodded back, then exhaled, his muscles bracing.

“Before we get started… does anyone want to get out?”

_ How polite. _

There was a moment’s pause, before Emerson swiftly unsheathed her knife and whipped around, slashing the back of the head of the agent nearest to her. He shouted in pain, and the rest of the elevator erupted into action. 

Three agents tried to crowd her, making her freeze momentarily, long enough for one of them to land a punch on her shoulder. She hissed, more in anger than pain, and sprung around him, digging her knife into  _ his _ shoulder and making him howl. Without pause, she leapt onto the other agent, twisting her legs around his neck and knocking him down, before flipping up and fixing the remaining agent with an icy glare. His eyes widened and he threw his hands up, dropping his gun. She rolled her eye, before knocking him out with a lightning-fast roundhouse-kick, just as Steve took out the rest of the agents; only Rumlow remained.

“Whoa, big guy,” he said, holding out his hands defensively, “I just want you to know, Cap, this ain’t  _ personal! _ ” He lurched forward, swinging an electrified rod at Steve, but the super-soldier deflected the blow right as Emerson kicked Rumlow’s legs, grabbing his wrist and wrenching the taser-stick out of his hand. Using it to stun the agent, Emerson dropped his limp body as the Captain knocked him out.

Steve’s breaths were rough, his chest heaving. “It kinda feels personal,” he grunted, before flipping his shield into his hand. Emerson gave him a manic, adrenaline-fueled grin, still holding the electric rod. He huffed out a laugh, then opened the elevator doors — and was greeted with a group of heavily-armed SHIELD agents with their weapons trained on him.

“Drop the shield! Put your hands in the air!” one of them ordered, and Steve immediately used the aforementioned shield to break the wires in the elevator, sending the glass-walled box plummeting downward. 

As Steve forced the metal doors open, Emerson threw the taser-rod at the approaching group, hitting one of the agents smack in the teeth while simultaneously slamming her hand down on the “close” button. Steve flexed his (no doubt sore) hands as he scanned the elevator walls.

“ _ Give it up, Rogers! _ ” an agent from outside yelled. “ _ Get that door open! You and the girl have nowhere to go! _ ”

“Wanna bet, asshole?” Emerson growled. She peered at the glass walls, her eye fixing on the concrete below as a  _ totally fantastic  _ idea came to mind. “Yo Cap.” She pointed outside the window.

His eyebrows rose. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, with a one-armed shrug. “I love skydiving.”

He made a face saying “ _ alright, but if this goes wrong I’m blaming you _ ”, before wrapping one arm around her and bracing his shield with the other. Charging forward, they burst out of the glass and fell through the air, the wind whistling past them as Emerson squeezed her eye shut. 

The jarring  _ crunch  _ of vibranium on concrete stabbed into her ears, her skull  _ way _ too close to the rippling cracks for her comfort. Steve shoved himself up, offering her a hand. She took it gladly, the two of them taking off at full pelt over the broken glass, ignoring the dumbfounded bystanders. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Emerson shouted to the Captain as they sprinted across the grounds.

“Garage,” he responded tersely, pulling on his cowl.

Indeed, once the pair reached a very garage-looking building, Steve leapt onto a motorcycle and started it up, Emerson barely having time to jump on before he was speeding out, the shield mounted on the front handlebars. Steve dodged the obstacles and walls expertly, and Emerson was reminded of the Captain’s old tactics with a decked-out motorbike back in the War. 

An odd-looking jet pulled out ahead of them; Steve didn’t stop. 

“ _ Stand down, Captain Rogers, _ ” a voice emitted from the jet, its machine gun lowering and pointing at them menacingly. “ _ Stand down. Repeat,  _ stand down.” Steve still didn’t stop. Emerson clenched her jaw as round after round tore into the road beside them, before Steve threw his shield into the propellers of the jet, jamming them and giving him an opportunity to leap onto it. Emerson’s eye widened as she was suddenly left alone on the motorcycle, lurching forward and taking tight hold of the handlebars. The bike wobbled as she tried to steady it while simultaneously dodging the falling bits of jet as smoke billowed through the air. 

Steve suddenly jumped from the jet, shield in hand, landing neatly on the back of the motorbike. Emerson fought to keep it from tipping as she yelled back to the Captain, “What’d ya do, rip its wings off?”

“Kinda,” Steve replied breathlessly, strapping his shield to his back.

Emerson jerked her head to clear her hair from her face. “Ain’t that overkill?”

“Probably.” 

She rolled her eyes, then refocused on the road, swerving into an alley. She jumped off the motorbike, and ignoring Steve’s questioning gaze, sauntered up to a nearby dumpster and hefted open the lid, sifting through the bags inside.

“Um…” Steve began, but she interrupted him.

“I know what y’ur gonna ask and I’m just gonna say this,” she said, pulling a patchy black sweatshirt out of the dumpster and shoving it to his chest. “You’re Captain America, and you’re now a fugitive.” She smiled with utterly fake sweetness. “Thankfully, you have me to show ya the ropes.”

The Good Captain blinked, then slowly took the dirty sweatshirt from her hands, making a face as she leaned back into the dumpster and retrieved a torn windbreaker for herself, shuffling it over her jacket. 

Grabbing a worn baseball cap from the same bag, she quickly put her hair up in a messy ponytail and pulled the hat on, before turning to Steve and waving her hand with a flourish. “How do I look?”

He looked her up and down. “Like you’re too hot for this weather.” He squinted at the dumpster. “How’d you find this much stuff in there anyway?”

“Magic,” Emerson deadpanned, adjusting her eyepatch and hopping back on the bike. “Come on.”

  
  
(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged :)


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